


Buoyancy

by cruisedirector



Series: Desert Island Fics [8]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: Age of Sail, Assumptions, Background Het, Bathing/Washing, Birds, Bisexual Male Character, Canon Era, Coming In Pants, Drinking, Falling In Love, Father-Son Relationship, First Time, Freedom, Frottage, Happy, Kissing, Love, M/M, Masturbation, Ocean, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Sexism, Pirates, Playful Sex, Roughhousing, Rules, Sailing, Storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-03
Updated: 2005-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-03 09:56:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruisedirector/pseuds/cruisedirector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not just a keel and a hull and a deck and sails, that's what a ship needs, but what a ship really is...is freedom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buoyancy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karelian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karelian/gifts).



> Warning: Potential anachronisms, just like in the movie. Originally posted under a different name in a different fandom. Many thanks to seleneheart for beta.

It started with back-slapping, elbowing, punches in the arm that made heat buzz along Will's skin, much as it had in the blacksmith's shop when he got too close to the fire. Then -- once Jack concluded that Will was man enough to take his goading -- he moved on to stealth attacks, full-body tackles, grabbing and wrestling Will to the deck.

And then Jack kissed him. Afterwards Will remembered only a dark blur flying down the backstay before rough hands grabbed his shoulders to pin him against the mast. Unyielding warm weight covered him, stealing his breath, releasing sparks against his mouth, taking off again in a flash of golden lightning and a rush of laughter that left Will's entire face tingling. He barked his outrage, but for the rest of the day he would catch himself lifting his fingers to his lips, running his tongue across the prickly ghost of Jack's smile.

When Jack told him to get some rest so he could take over the steering later, Will fell asleep and dreamed of falling into water, surprised yet unafraid though in the dream he couldn't swim. It was like the story Elizabeth had told him of his salvation from the sea when he was a child, but Elizabeth was not in this dream. Instead Will lay breathless and paralyzed at the bottom of blue-green depths, waiting for the rescuer he knew would come, who pulled him up into bright golden light, wrestled him flat and breathed into his mouth until they were laughing together. When he woke, Will could taste the rich strange flavor of those lips on his own.

The pirate had known Will's father; perhaps he considered it a paternal show of affection to kiss him, and only Will's isolated upbringing made him react so strongly to the other man's proximity. It had seemed obvious back in Port Royal that Captain Sparrow was crazy and unpredictable, so Will wasn't really prepared for it when Jack shoved him against the wheel and kissed him again the next afternoon, for somewhat longer and with more movement of lips, though maybe it just felt that way because Jack's moustache had gotten in the way the day before. Or maybe it felt that way because Jack started snickering right before they broke apart. Will stared into the bright glimmer of Jack's eyes surrounded by happy crinkles of smile, and the tingling spread from his face down his neck until he didn't need to touch his mouth because he could already feel it in his fingertips. He didn't bother to protest, and Jack didn't bother to apologize.

When he napped that day, he dreamed that he was lying on heaving ground under a heavy weight, looking up at a sun so bright he thought it would burn him, in a sky so blue it almost tasted like water. It was a hot day, dragging and tedious, with very little wind. When he woke, Will's clothing clung to him as if it had been soldered to his skin; he knew how terrible he smelled. Jack watched him as he stripped off and dove off the side to bathe in the sea, then hauled up a bucket and washed his clothes. Of course Jack reeked as much as Will, and he had blood and dirt on his hands from wrestling with the ropes, but when they finally got their wind and it lifted Jack's hair as the ship began to move, Will thought that he was strangely beautiful for a pirate.

For some time they were busy with the sails, Jack bellowing gleeful orders at Will who jumped to obey, energized by the fresh breeze. The Commodore's men had stocked the Interceptor with salt beef and wine, and when Will brought some up for Jack, the captain put it aside and swung around toward him. Like a slow repetition of the first time, Will found himself crushed back against the mast, though he knew that he could have escaped had he tried. Refusing to be made to play the woman, he managed to get an arm around Jack's waist, and he kissed back as hard as he could before Jack broke away, knocked heads with him, socked him in the arm and then talked his ear off about sails and rigging and how this pretty ship would handle in a storm. Midway through a sentence he stopped, stared at Will and asked what he was smiling about, and Will rubbed his arm and said, "You hit a spot that tingles." Slowly Jack grinned back, winked as if they shared a secret, then looked away and advised Will to take the wheel while he ran up to have a look around.

All the rest of that afternoon, everything around Will swam in an intense brightness that made him wonder whether he had stood too long under the sun. He jumped at every footfall, every chuckle, every shift of light as the sails flapped in the breeze, until Jack asked whether he'd drunk too much wine. Will had had far too many opportunities to observe Mr. Brown the blacksmith and knew the symptoms all too well, so he knew that this was like the opposite of being drunk. Will did not feel sluggish but awake, bursting with energy as if they might be attacked at any moment, though he was neither afraid nor angry. He loved the feeling of being in motion, feeling the urge to swim, to fly...maybe to grapple with someone.

When Jack approached him and, smiling, prodded Will's shoulder with his own, Will grabbed his arm to turn him around and unhesitatingly slammed his mouth over Jack's. Jack made a funny noise, as if he'd hurt his lip against his teeth, but he pushed right back into Will until the kiss had turned into a sort of balancing contest and they fell over together as the ship rocked. The deck was hard but Jack laughed when Will grunted at the impact, and as he sat up, Jack's eyes widened with something dangerous gleaming in them. He stayed shoulder to shoulder with Will as it grew dark, licking his lips as if they tingled, and he kept laughing under his breath even though the two of them didn't talk about much except the trim of the sails.

That night Will dreamed that he and Jack were drinking together, sitting across from each other at one of the narrow tables below, with their elbows locked and their arms linked through one another. Their knees bumped beneath the narrow tabletop. It wasn't a very good position for tossing back rum, and they kept spilling the tots over the sides of their mouths until both their chins were dripping wet. Jack reached out with his tongue and swabbed Will's clean, and when Will turned his head to do the same to Jack, he found himself being kissed deeply, held in place by his trapped elbow and the faint pressure against his knee. Jack let his cup fall to the table and Will said, "That's not in the rules," but Jack laughed and whispered "No rules, mate," and his mouth was open when Will kissed him back.

In the dream he thought the lurches he felt were internal, but Will woke with a start, realizing that the ship was swaying wildly and shuddering around him. He quickly cleaned himself and rushed above, where he found Jack struggling with a sail that had become entangled in the rigging. "Get up here, damn you," Jack roared, and Will climbed quickly to help him take it in. The wind had picked up and was flapping the fabric, which tugged at the ropes that restrained it. With hard exertion the two of them managed to secure the sail, and Jack slid down a stay to the deck.

"Now make her fly with me," said Jack, and the two of them worked together at the mainmast in near-darkness until the Interceptor indeed seemed to be flying across the sea. Will had thought that Sparrow seemed a ridiculous name for the dirty buccaneer, but watching him balancing on the bowsprit with the agility of a seabird, calling out in pleasure as the wind rushed past him, Will believed for a moment instead that the man should have had a grander bird's name, something large enough to take a boy on his back and make him soar over the dark exhilarating waves.

Then the wind died, and for hours they scarcely moved at all, sitting becalmed in heavy air. Jack went into the hold and came up with planks of wood, which they trimmed to the length of swords and practiced fighting one another until they were exhausted. Jack did not taunt Will about his need for a lady, and Will did not point out that in this, at least, he was Jack's equal if not his better. He suspected that Jack was holding back, seeing no reason to risk an injury to either of them when they were -- at least for now -- on a common quest.

Their arms grew exhausted, but the air was still too thick for comfort, and Will did not think that he would sleep even in the cooler space below. Instead he found more wine, which Jack complained was no substitute for rum but better than the putrid water in the barrels, and they drank together silently, watching the slow movement of the stars. Certainly Jack could not be blamed for the absence of wind, and Jack assured him that the calm meant that the Black Pearl must make little progress as well, but when Jack slugged Will affectionately in the shoulder, it hurt and it tingled and it made Will want to pummel Jack for everything he'd done until he said he was sorry.

Something of what he was thinking must have shown on Will's face, because golden glints started to surface in Jack's eyes. "It's time," he announced and pounced, grabbing Will across the shoulders and pulling him in before Will could get his own hands up to defend himself. The first kiss was more assault than play, despite the teasing swipe of Jack's tongue across Will's lips and into his beard. When he jerked back, Jack looked at him with half a grin and sat back like he wanted to see what Will was going to do.

So Will kissed him back, and although he was still angry, there wasn't anything hostile about it, for Jack wasn't fighting him. Will felt the older man's breath rush out in a sigh as if he'd been holding it, then his head tilted and his lips parted.

The combativeness was gone, though Jack's hands were firm and strong. They slid around Will to keep him close as they tasted each other, experimentally at first, then with growing hunger. Jack smelled strongly of sweat and salt water, a warm smell, paradoxically a clean smell; Will thought of falling into water, wrestling with someone in the sea as the surf pulled at them. Sparks of lightning spread out from his mouth around the back of his head, down his back and arms into his fingers, so that his whole body was buzzing with pleasure before he realized how closely he was pressing it to Jack. At first he thought that Jack was going to make the wrong assumption, before he realized with the bluntness of a crashing wave that Jack had understood that this could happen all along, while he, Will, had floated in a sea of anticipation, refusing to think about where they were headed.

"Shouldn't we stop...?" he started to ask, meeting Jack's eyes in the dimness as his voice cut through the quiet. Falling silent, he felt Jack smile faintly while sparks crackled and sizzled along his skin every place he and Jack touched. He wasn't as embarrassed by the bulge in his breeches as by the way his hands shook against Jack's back. He couldn't feign cold, for there was heat radiating from both of them. Jack's shoulders felt hard and smooth as he gripped at the curves of the blades beneath his damp vest; his mouth had gone dry, but Jack kissed him again, eyes fluttering closed as he leaned forward, and there was a surge of moist heat all over like being hit by another wave. That was quickly followed by a gasp when Jack stroked his chest, a full-out shock. Will remembered how dangerous lightning could be on the water, which made him smile, and Jack asked what was funny, and he muttered, "Just that you're probably trying to kill me."

With a puzzled yet enthusiastic shake of his head, Jack urged him onto his back, sliding over him, the full weight of his body pressing Will down to the deck. Jack's eyes had turned the color of the night sky and he moaned aloud when Will lifted a hand to knead the strong corded muscle in his neck beneath a thick curtain of hair. The dark head lowered, breathed against the sensitive damp skin of Will's throat, making Will buck up to meet Jack who didn't try to hide his excitement as he moved on top of him, sending white flares of heat through Will's body. It was nothing like he'd imagined with Elizabeth or any other woman; it was hard and sticky and Jack's hair made him itch, and he couldn't get enough of it. Easily they fell into a rhythm of grinding circles and quiet moans until Will found himself floating on his back in effortless pleasure.

"Kiss me," he managed to say, even though the request seemed a betrayal, something far more dangerous than simply doing it. But Jack was there, turning him so that they were side by side, still pressed close, floating with him, stroking him and making him twitch so hard he knew Jack could feel it. A rush of pressure accompanied the wet heat when Jack groaned into Will's mouth, his voice changing pitch, thick and unrestrained even though Will hadn't really touched him. _Oh._ Will tried to hold on, but the jolts of lightning overtook him, body jerking, and he could feel Jack's fingers digging into his back, and the deck dropped out from under both of them. They each cried out and for a split second Will was afraid, but they held on to each other. And soared. And drifted back slowly, like a summer storm moving off in the distant sky.

"You'll make a fine pirate, young Turner," Jack murmured, releasing his grip on Will, who pulled hesitantly away and fled below, seeking urgently to clean himself and clear his head. By the time he came back on deck, Jack was studying his compass, frowning. "Best get some rest, we have a lot of work to do tomorrow," he reminded Will, and brushed past him on his way below. A few minutes later he returned with several hammocks, which he flung down beside the fixed wheel. "I'll stay on deck. You might as well have the cabin."

Will felt that he should say something, though he didn't know whether he wanted to thank Jack or shout in frustration. He went below and fell asleep practically the moment he stretched out in the cot, dreaming that he was in Port Royal, under a heavy gray sky pouring rain over the island. He kept seeing people he knew but none of them recognized him when he called out. In the dream he turned a corner, and the sun came out; then he was standing in front of the governor's house, where Elizabeth came flying out to greet him, tearful and grateful, as if she had never expected to see him again.

When he woke, Will missed her painfully, then wondered why it was so, since it wasn't as if she had ever been his to call upon. Even if he rescued her, she would likely marry Norrington or one of the wealthy traders who visited Port Royal -- not a blacksmith whose true parentage was worse than he had ever imagined. A pirate. That was what his father had been, and what Will was now. The way Jack Sparrow had made him.

If he thought about the evening before, there wasn't a part of Will's body that didn't quiver with excitement, as if a sea storm was raising the hairs all over him. But he also felt as though he'd been attacked from behind. Not by Jack, exactly: crazy Captain Sparrow had never pretended to be joking with Will. It was just that Will had assumed he must have been, even if he knew before Will did that Will could never have been a gentleman. Will was certain he wasn't the only man Jack had ever kissed; he knew what was said about pirates, and sometimes even sailors in the Navy, unrepentant sodomites. It was clear to Jack that Will was no seaman, and Jack knew that Will loved Elizabeth, but Jack didn't seem to find any contradiction between that and what had happened between them on the deck.

Through what little he could see of the stern window, perfect blue sky gleamed so bright it hurt Will's eyes. He shut them, not wanting so much clarity, and lay as still as he could, fighting the heat that surged through his body every time his thoughts strayed. What did it mean that he had wanted it so much, and it had felt so good, and he had been so happy on deck in the wind earlier, though they had fled Port Royal as fugitives? Maybe it didn't mean a bloody thing. Yet despite his discomfort, his inability to trust Jack, his fears about Elizabeth, everything had seemed right flying across the sea, as if anything might be possible...

Will slid a hand beneath his clothing and opened his eyes, watching flecks of dust flicker in the blue-gold light streaming through the window. His fingers were rough and efficient on himself and he managed not to disturb his pace with any stray thoughts, staring at the numbing brightness because it was less distracting than anything he saw behind his eyelids. Then he wondered whether Jack was awake yet and what he was thinking, and if perhaps he was doing the same thing. Images flashed across his vision, Jack's hands, Jack's eyes, the dark curve of beard along Jack's jaw, and he heard the echo of a groan and drowned in the remembered taste of a kiss as his head fell back and he flooded the side of the cot.

The sound of hammering made him sit up and then leap to the deck. Jack had wanted to set out early -- had he gone to work while Will slept past sunrise, not even a factor in his plans? Racing on deck, he found the sails fluttering in the rising breeze and the pirate sitting calmly with a piece of canvas and a wooden frame, stretching the fabric over the thin strips of wood.

"Watch," Jack told him and raced along the deck, pulling the frame over the side by a thin rope attached to one end. It took several tries, but the taut square of sail caught the breeze and rose up above their heads, soaring as the ship moved over the water. Jack rushed back over to Will, a dark blur flying toward him, arms extended, and Will felt something rise up his chest before he realized that Jack was not reaching out for him but but offering the rope. He kept his hand beneath Will's, spooling out the line.

"Couldn't it catch in the rigging?" Will asked him.

"It could, and only a fool would do this," agreed Jack. "But look. It's free." Will watched the flying canvas rise higher and higher while he and Jack stood shoulder to shoulder, bumping occasionally, taking turns glancing away from the brightness that hurt to look at but was too perfect not to try. When the rope reached its end, Jack released it, and the square of canvas fluttered away behind them, twisting over the water until they could no longer see it. "It is beautiful, isn't it?" Jack asked him, nudging him in a ticklish spot, and Will had to clear his throat before he could say yes.

When they arrived in Tortuga, all of Will's qualms about sailing with a pirate returned tenfold. Evidently Jack seemed intimately familiar with every whore and cutthroat on the island, and there were things he wasn't telling Will. Will barely spoke when they rowed back to the Interceptor, but Jack refused to allow him his peace, even though the ship was anchored and they might have had a decent night's rest.

"You might have enjoyed yourself a mite in Tortuga," Jack told him.

"With those filthy women?" Will expected Jack to defend his whores, but Jack only grinned, and Will felt that his manhood was being mocked again. "Whatever you may believe, not every man cares only for..."

"Food, drink, and pleasurable company?" asked Jack in a strange, morbid voice that Will didn't understand. "Sometimes, young Mr. Turner, those are the only things that can keep a man from going mad thinking about the things he does care for."

While Will stared, feeling as moored as the ship beside the dirty island, Jack studied him for a minute, then gave Will a kiss that tickled his lip and tasted of rum and salt but made him think of flying sails, golden light and falling into water. "I wish that you would stop doing that," he protested, but he let Jack urge him down upon the pile of hammocks, looking at him in a way Jack hadn't looked at any of those women in Tortuga. He stared into eyes that were astonishingly clear when Jack put his hands and mouth on him, feeling every breath, every scratch of whisker, every damp tingling stroke of a palm or tongue, until a final surge sent his body into convulsions that he was sure must be rocking the ship.

"Why do you wish that I would stop?" Jack asked when he was holding Will through the heaving swell, resting his chin on his shoulder and making no other demands. So Will tried to explain that he wasn't a pirate -- couldn't ever be a pirate -- didn't know what he was, since Elizabeth had screamed for them to pull him from the dark water as a child, but he had always tried to live by what he imagined was his father's code. Now Jack was changing him, in slow easy drifts and bright bursts of knowledge, and having seen and touched and tasted, Will wasn't sure that he could scrub them away, even when they had found Elizabeth and he returned to the heat and grime of the blacksmith's shop, the respectable life he had made for himself in Port Royal.

And he realized, with the bluntness of a crashing wave, that he did not want to, just as Jack said softly, "Your father had a code. He wasn't the merchant sailor you may have believed in, but he was a good man."

Will didn't suppose that Jack had a code. He was as free as that square of sail he had sent flying from the stern of the Interceptor. Will knew that he had never wanted that sort of freedom -- he wanted a home, a family, not a son who would know him only by letters and legends as he had known his own father -- but there was something irresistible about the reckless, boundless love of sea and sky that put Jack Sparrow outside the law. He rolled over to wrestle Jack flat on the hammock beneath them, snorting a little as he whispered, "No rules, mate." That made Jack smile, and even with his eyes closed it was easy to find the wide mouth with his own lips.

When Will drifted off, he dreamed that Jack had sent him flying off a yard on a piece of sail until he drifted all the way to Port Royal, where Elizabeth saw him fluttering high above the governor's house and waved, but he couldn't find his way down to her. Then he noticed that Jack was holding on to the sail from a rope that stretched all the way to the deck of his ship. "It's your choice," Jack said and tossed the end to him. For a minute Will thought about flying even higher, as Jack would have done, but Elizabeth stretched out her arms to him and he dropped the rope, allowing her to anchor him and reel him in.

When the moon rose, he woke with Jack sprawled beside him, a dark shape floating against the hammock. Will elbowed him awake and watched while the bright eyes opened. Then a blur of motion led to a spark against Will's mouth, buoyancy that bubbled out as laughter. They would surely quarrel when it came time to crew the ship, and when it came time to rescue Elizabeth, and when it came time to return to Port Royal, but here on the sea he was just as free as Jack.

Jack laughed with him, settling lazily back where he could reach his sword if a more brazen pirate than himself came with boats for the ship in the darkness. Although the air was warm, he pressed close to Will as the night breeze blew. They were running from the law and other outlaws, running toward murderous, savage pirates and the possibility of unimagined horrors, yet Will was happy. He understood why his father might have loved this life, and he thought, perhaps, that this was what love should feel like: clear as water, sweet as rum, boundless as the sky.


End file.
